


Tangled, but Unbroken

by AttackoftheDarkCurses



Series: Attack's Trope-y HEAs [11]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alderaanian Hair Braiding, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Childhood Friends, Courting and Wedding Traditions, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Growing Up Together, Hair Braiding, Loss of Virginity, Mild Angst, No Pregnancy, Prince Ben Solo, Red String of Fate, Secret Relationship, Sort Of, Time Skips, Uncle Luke is a Reylo, Wedding Night Smut, forbidden relationship, suggestive banter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-07 22:14:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20983244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AttackoftheDarkCurses/pseuds/AttackoftheDarkCurses
Summary: When they split, his forehead rests against hers, his nose brushing her cheek. His words are a whisper that cut through her heart like a knife.“What I wouldn’t give to have you as my princess.”The words are agonizing for the simplest reason: she is not a lady—not a duke’s daughter, not a noblewoman from a distant land, and while she may be his, she will never be his princess.But Rey lets his fingers find her hair and begin a braid that allows her to pretend otherwise.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hi_raeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hi_raeth/gifts).

> For Eleanor, because I couldn't pass up an opportunity to write more hairbraiding! Thank you for everything you bring to the fandom <3 I hope you have a wonderful birthday.
> 
> This is based on a prompt from [Reylo Prompts](https://twitter.com/reylo_prompts), the evil people who keep me so busy lately. This one is pre-written (thankfully), and I'll probably post daily.
> 
> A huge thank you to [SpaceWaffleHouseTM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceWaffleHouseTM/pseuds/SpaceWaffleHouseTM) for beta'ing!

The warm and reassuring aroma of hot cider fills the air and mingles with that of freshly baked meat pies and sweets. The kitchen Mister Plutt kept was sparse and dirty, and a proper cooked meal was a rarity—so unlike what stands before her. Rey supposes the castle's tiled kitchens were bound to be contrary to anything she's known, but now that she's here, she's surprised enough to clutch to the skirts of her new guardian, who found her shivering and thieving in the nearby Jakku Markets.

Just that morning, Maz—a woman who insists on being addressed without a title and whose braid lacks any sign of marriage ribbon—caught Rey with her hand in the pocket of a banker, and scolded her as though she merely intended to steal a cookie off an oven. She asked Rey's name, age, and family name, then declared that nine was too young to fend for oneself. That is how Rey finds herself at the castle.

She struggles not to tug at the folds of her tattered dirty dress, feeling terribly out-of-place even in the kitchens, surrounded by servants. Questions swirl in her mind. Will she live here? Will Mister Plutt look for her? Will Maz be her mother now?

Amid her spinning mind and the bustling staff, which appear to be preparing for a grand event, or perhaps only dinner, Rey spots another child. A taller one, though he seems close to her age.

He is as misplaced as she, for the opposite reason. Where her clothes are tattered, his are deep red and black and embroidered with gold. Where dirt covers her hands and cheeks, he is prim, with pale skin and ebony hair and a bellicose expression. He paces, clenching his hands into fists, and when Maz sees him she sighs.

"I'll attend to that one," she says, both resigned and amused, as though it is a daily occurrence for this angry boy to show up in her kitchen. "He must be hiding out."

Rey frowns and sends the boy a glare when she sees him scowl at her new guardian. From her distance, she can only make out his complaints about a state dinner and how he doesn't want to go. Turning down food or missing an offered dinner is a profoundly confusing thing, and she gapes at him until his scowl turns to her. From where he stands, he inspects her with narrowed eyes and on a whim, she forgoes even the most perfunctory courtesies.

She sticks her tongue out.

The boy's mouth falls open. He bristles and turns on his heel, storming out. It leaves Maz to stop in the middle of her sentence. She glances back to Rey with a brow quirked. "You'd be wise to watch your manners if you're to live here."

Rey doesn't stop her snort. "He was rude."

Maz signs again. It's the sort of deep sigh an adult gives when they wonder if they've made a regrettable decision.

"_He_ is the prince."

Rey's still unimpressed.

* * *

Not long after Ben's eleventh birthday, his tutor leaves, citing his reason as the job's terrible strain on his well-being. Ben neglects to inform his mother of the true reason—the toads, caught from a nearby river, which often found their way into Mister Hux's sheets. Reveling in his success is short-lived; his new tutor, Lady Holdo, a woman whose braid is marked with the lavender marriage ribbon of Alderaan's upper class, is not only aware of his antics, but finds revenge within the confines of their lessons, always in ways that can be excused as proper teaching.

Three weeks into her placement, Ben is mortified by her lesson in the history of his own parents' courting, and he comes to terms with the fact that he has found a formidable match who will not be intimidated by toads.

Perhaps that's why, when she releases him for lunch one day, he runs. Leaving the castle itself is the difficulty—there are guards everywhere, but Ben knows of a stealthy way in and out through the kitchens. Maz takes pity on him and even sends him away with a packed basket. He tastes fresh air not ten minutes after escaping Lady Holdo.

Ben isn't sure what possesses him to wander toward the stables, but he guesses Lady Holdo—elegant and haughty as she is—would turn her nose up at the location and not consider searching it for him. Eating lunch amongst the horses isn't ideal, but it's still a tempting alternative to whatever lesson his tutor has planned for the afternoon.

He makes it halfway to the end of the stables, in search of a bench to eat on, when he halts.

_She_ is here.

He's not seen her since the day, not quite a year earlier, when he attempted to hide in the kitchens to avoid another stuffy state dinner. She's cleaner now, the dirt limited to her shoes, but her hair is back in an unfamiliar braid. Ben's not convinced it even is a braid. Upon closer inspection, the lumps on the back of her head appear to be unbraided buns, and he stiffens in offense.

But beggars can't be choosers, and the stables—uncouth girl included—are an improvement upon Lady Holdo. He clears his throat, readying to present himself, and she spins around and stumbles with surprise. One of the horses neighs, and shuffles anxiously.

Then she glares. "Are you too wealthy to afford common sense? Don't scare the giant things that can flatten you!"

He blinks in surprise at a girl, a _servant_, speaking to him in a way that doesn't include a bow and a low voice, and kind words. The pause gives him time to see the tear tracks down her face.

"Sorry." Ben tilts his head. "Have you been crying?"

The way he asks sounds kind enough to him, but she scoffs like he's accused her of something. He wants to know why she would be sad, why she scares easily, but more than that—it's new, talking to another child. With the exception of children of visiting dignitaries, Ben's rarely around anyone his age. Certainly not a _girl_, and not one who scowls at him and sticks out her tongue.

"Are you upset?" he prods, approaching her like he'd approach a timid animal.

The girl wipes at her face with a sleeve, and he tries not to cringe. Instead, he pulls out a proper handkerchief, one with his initials, and he offers it out to her. Her gaze fixes on it and narrows, as though she's expecting a trick.

He's about to roll his eyes when she reaches out and snatches it, backing away to turn from him as she wipes her eyes. "I'm not upset," she insists. "I'm angry. Maz baked cookies for me today. It's my birthday, but _Poe_—" she snarls the name, "made me drop them. He says it was an accident, but I know it wasn't."

"Poe is nerf-herder," he says solemnly. He should know. Poe Dameron is one of the young men who works with the horses—the person who showed him where to find toads.

The girl nods in agreement, seeming placated.

"It's your birthday?" When she nods again, Ben starts to wonder if she ever talks without a scowl. "How old?"

She hesitates, as though she thinks he'll use this information against him. "Ten," she finally admits.

"Eleven. I'm Ben."

The girl rolls her eyes. "I know who you are. I'm Rey." She studies him and frowns. "Why are you here? Shouldn't you be somewhere… else?" At his panicked expression, the curiosity in her gaze grows. "Are you _hiding _here?"

"Please don't tell anyone," he blurts. "I don't want my tutor to find me. She… she's a _monster_."

Rey stares at him and out of nowhere, tosses her head back and laughs. The sound is crisp and musical, like ringing bells. It's beautiful. Maybe that's why he follows up with, "Join me for lunch? Maz packed a whole basket."

Her laugh stops in an instant, and her suspicious expression returns. Ben notices the wisps of hair that fall free from her buns, and around her face. "You want me to have lunch with you?" she asks. "Why?"

"Because it's your birthday?" he offers lamely.

The look she gives him is withering, and her words are dry, "Are you claiming to be a present?"

Ben finds himself at a loss for how to respond. He sputters while she laughs again, and he works out, "Are you always so difficult?"

"Yes. Is that a problem?"

The oddest part is, Ben's not sure it is. The furious annoyance he expects to feel never arrives. He works his mouth, exasperated. "Are you joining me or not?"

She pauses. Her eyes flit to the basket, and Ben knows she sees the cookies, wrapped up and sitting on top of the outrageous pile of food he couldn't possibly finish himself. "Fine. But not here. I know a better place."

Ben tries not to imagine the hell that will be raised if it's found that he followed a kitchen girl through the woods and into an endless field, a long walk from the castle. They'll likely not be found, and he worries for perhaps ten minutes before losing himself to the halcyon summer he's missed while sitting inside listening to his lessons.

The air is fresh, the grass a verdant green, and the sky shines a cloudy, pale blue the shade of a robin's egg. Rey leads him through the field, letting out a soft giggle here and there as he trips on things in the high grass. It's silent, save for their own sounds, and when she finds the perfect spot and drops to the ground, she closes her eyes and casts her face up to Alderaan's sun.

She has freckles.

Ben sits on the ground next to her, trying not to wonder what Lady Holdo would say about his current state, and he digs through the basket, finding little sandwiches, shuura fruits, and a few small pies, along with the cookies. Had Maz truly planned for him to eat this alone? He thinks not, but doesn't give voice to that suspicion.

At his prompting, Rey cracks her eyes back open and helps him devour the food, not making any effort to hide her ravenous appetite. It shocks him a little, just how improper she is. He has half a mind to ask if she's been raised by wolves, but then… then she smiles at him. It's the first real smile he's seen from her—wide and bright and more carefree than he thought possible.

It quickly becomes a goal of his, seeing how often he can earn one of those smiles.

* * *

"Shhhh!"

Despite her warning, Ben keeps laughing. To his credit, she can't blame him; she must look absurd, standing there covered in flour and dripping egg. He looks ridiculous, too, and the more he laughs, the more her annoyance fades. Rey brings a hand to her mouth and laughs into it.

Since befriending the prince a year earlier, Rey's found herself in trouble more often than not. He's the reason she sneaks out of her room most nights—they often hide in alcoves or one of the seldom used libraries and make up games to play. He's been teaching her to read, and he gives her his old books so she can practice. Sometimes she reads to him and he helps her when she stumbles over words.

Tonight, they were half a chapter into her reading him a fairytale about a mermaid when Ben interrupted with a scheme. Their original goal was to sneak into the kitchens and smuggle out snacks while everyone slept, but the plan went awry when they found the usual stores of pastries and sweets empty.

Ben's proposed solution was that they bake their own, with no recipes, nor knowledge of baking, as if it would be simple.

Now, as they stand in the messy kitchen, Rey asks herself not for the first time why she keeps listening to the boy in front of her. He gives her a silly half-smile, and then she remembers—because he's Ben, and it's become impossible to say no to Ben. All he needs to do is give her one of those rare, lopsided smiles that seem reserved for her, and she agrees to hairbrained schemes like this one.

Rey shakes her head, laughing silently. "You're a disaster."

"So are you," he snickers.

She's still not sure what went wrong, but she's starting to think this mess is not a normal part of the cake-baking process. They'll be in a _lot_ of trouble when the staff comes in. Her eyes go wide at the thought.

Ben frowns. "What?"

"Maz will have my head." She groans, imagining her nights of sneaking out are likely over. It's a fear she's had since the first night Ben caught her in a library, but that night, he only asked why she was there, and then offered to teach her how to read when she complained the books lacked pictures. "Kaydel will, too, especially if she's made to help clean this up."

"Only if they know it was you," he shrugs.

Rey blinks at him, gestures at the flour and egg mix that's still dripping from her hair, and he laughs again.

"It's not funny!" Despite her words, she says it with a snicker.

Ben shakes his head, a wide grin plastered across his beaming face. Neither of them think much of it when he steps closer and reaches out to wipe egg from her cheek.

If his hand lingers there, or if their expressions soften, neither of them comment. It's a flawless moment. Not even the drying egg-y mess marrs it, but it's broken the minute they hear someone clear their throat.

Rey blanches, jumping back and leaving Ben's hand floating in mid-air where her face was. She wants to sink into the floor and disappear when she sees Ben's uncle. He's also a prince, or maybe more accurately, he _was_ a prince. Ben's explained that he abdicated long ago with no interest in ruling—it makes him no less intimidating. The man has sandy blond hair, graying like his beard, and he only stands there, studying them and the state of the kitchen.

He cracks a smile. "No question of who your parents are," he snorts, shaking his head at Ben. "Who's your friend?'

Ben's gone still, undoubtedly sure of how much trouble they might both be in, so she speaks in his stead, forgetting this is _also_ quite a lapse in proper courtesy. "I'm Rey."

If the man is surprised by her answering, he doesn't show it. "Ah. Maz's Rey?" At her confirmation, he nods, and gives a small mischievous grin. "Well, Rey, I'm Luke." He gaze scans their mess again. "Best clean this up before you're caught. Should I assume the kitchens are out of sweets?"

"They are," Ben finally croaks, having found his voice. "We were trying to bake our own."

Luke laughs. "I gathered. What I _haven't_ grasped is why either of you are out of bed." His eyes go from Ben to her and back again, taking in how closely they still stand, and he hums. "Though I suppose that's self-explanatory as well." He turns, making to leave, but then hesitates, and sighs again, tiredly. "It would be best if you aren't caught."

His words are both clear and full of meaning, and when she looks over at Ben, his cheeks have gone pink. She's sure hers have as well, but they say nothing, and get to cleaning.

* * *

Arguably the largest downside to turning thirteen is that he's now responsible for learning more of Alderaan's traditions. Specifically, _hair braiding_. It's something that'll be expected of him upon courting and marriage, which as far as Ben's concerned, is unimaginably far off. Lady Holdo still instructs him, and they've struck an accord—he will behave, and she will not inform the Queen when he sneaks off during lunches, nor when his old books go missing.

To Ben's dismay, these terms require him to still learn braiding. He's awful at it. His fingers are too large and not yet nimble, and he tangles the hair he practices on more often than he braids it. Lady Holdo consoles him by claiming the trouble is with the odd mannequin head he practices on—real hair would be easier, she insists, but he has no sisters, so currently it's improper for him to practice on anyone other than his mother. The Queen is too busy for that, though. His father has sympathized and admitted it took him years to learn, and he makes a point to remind Ben that it's easier this way—learning at a younger age. _He_ didn't learn to braid until courting Ben's mother.

Ben slumps in his chair when he decides today's braid is a lost cause. He's managed to knot it, and Lady Holdo has her lips pursed, the way she does when she's struggling not to laugh.

"Perhaps you'd like to leave early today?" she suggests, the words a blessing.

Ben casts her a grateful look. He raises from his seat and makes to leave, but she stops him, clearing her throat. There's a book in her hands—something new, another fairy tale, judging by the cover.

"For you," she explains, her lips curling up on one side. "Or, for wherever your books disappear to. I presume they _don't _run off on their own?"

He's sure he flushes. "Thanks."

Lady Holdo only nods, not commenting on his lack of an answer, and he leaves in a rush with the new book and his things before she's able to ask more questions.

Hours later, he sets the new book in Rey's hands. Predictably, her eyes light up. She drops her packed basket of snacks on a side table and starts paging through the book. They've learned, since their kitchen disaster a year earlier, to manage with whatever's available to spare rather than attempting their own bakes, and it seems tonight, the kitchen had grapes and fruit pastries. It's the same dessert that was offered to him after dinner, but as is the case every night, desserts are always sweeter like this—eaten while Rey reads them a story aloud.

They both settle onto a couch, him with a pastry and her with the book. "I wonder if this will be a new favorite." Before she begins reading, she nudges his arm. "How was your day?"

He grimaces. "More braiding. I'm dreadful at it. Today it was awful enough that Lady Holdo let me leave early. I assume it was out of pity. And isn't the mermaid one your favorite? I'm sure you've read it to me three or four times now."

Rey laughs at him and nods, and despite his frustration at his failed braid, it's hard to be annoyed when she's grinning the way she is. Tonight she's in a plain gray dress, her apron off, and her hair is forever in her peculiar three buns. It's not a normal style, not even for staff or a child of a servant. An idea comes to mind, and it's so inconceivable that he hardly dares to speak it.

But when she smiles over at him, he blurts, "Can I practice braiding your hair?"

Her brow raises, and Ben knows he's turned as beet-red as the cherries of his pastry. He's not sure whether she's aware of the traditions surrounding braids—Rey has no regular lessons, so she saps up knowledge from the history, language, and math books he gives her, but none of those books include _this_. It's possible Maz, or her friend Kaydel, a slightly older girl who helps with cleaning, may have informed her.

When she shrugs, he knows she's unaware. "If you'd like," she agrees. Ben hesitates, and his eyes go to her hair. It's a brownish-gold, shiny and healthy. "I can read while you do," she suggests. "What sort of braid?"

There's only one he's learned—the first he'll be expected to know, and his throat bobs while he considers telling her. "It's a simple kind," he offers. "Reverse, and three strand."

What he doesn't say is perhaps the important part. It's the braid any woman he someday courts will wear to show she's involved with someone for the intention of marriage. For obvious reasons, he neglects to mention this to Rey.

"Sounds pretty," she hums. Her hands go to her head, and she pulls out the ties holding her buns in place. She shakes out her hair, letting soft waves fall around her shoulders, and Ben is convinced he's frozen in place. He can't move. Can't avert his eyes.

He's never seen a girl with her hair down. Not even his own mother.

Rey frowns. "Is something wrong? Is it not long enough? It's clean, I had a bath this morning—"

"Nothing's wrong," Ben interrupts, his voice quiet. Without another hesitation, he gets up and moves to stand behind her, gesturing to the book, "I haven't read it, but I think it's about an evil witch spelling a princess to sleep."

He brushes through chestnut locks with his fingers, tilting her head back gently. Her hair is thick, and soft, a vast improvement on what he's been practicing with. Rey makes a soft, inquisitive noise at the cover of the book, and she opens it, propping it on her legs.

She begins to read, and with nervous, tentative fingers, Ben begins to braid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on twitter!  
[ Attack's Twitter](https://twitter.com/AttackotDC)  



	2. Chapter 2

Years pass. Years full of late-night reading and braiding and not a single additional baking disaster. Ben's not sure how they've not been caught again, but as he rests on a couch, his head in her lap so he can stare up at her while she reads to him, he doubts he would care if someone other than his uncle discovers them.

Rey is lovely. She was pretty before, even with dirt smudged on her nose and her tongue sticking out at him, but now, just short of her sixteenth birthday, her lips are full and her eyelashes long and fluttery, and when he braids her hair—as he finished doing a half hour earlier—he doesn't stop his gaze from sweeping over the length of her neck, and over her collarbones. He wonders if she knows he's staring while she reads.

She's got the book propped open with one hand, and the other runs fingers through his hair. It's a struggle whenever she turns a page, because he hates to lose her touch even for the briefest moment.

Even her voice is pretty. "_...couple on the settee failed to hear her. She watched as the maiden gave a series of loud breathy moans, and as the man slid his hand_—" Rey chokes on the words, and sputters, "Ben! What do you have me reading? Where did you get this book? I hardly believe the library keeps ones like this."

Perhaps he should have paid more attention to his choice. His cheeks flush, seeing her indignant glare. There is only a hint of amusement in it. "I found it in Lady Holdo's things," he explains shyly. "I didn't know."

"Well I should hope not," she laughs, unable to keep her same annoyed tone. Then she mocks, "How improper."

He scoffs. "I fail to see how it's more improper than our current position."

Rey quirks an eyebrow at him.

"How lucky it is most people will be too blinded by your looks to ever hear you speak," she muses. "That's a good quality in a ruler, I hear." Her next words are low, "Ben, the next paragraph describes a maiden's virginal thighs and what her paramour does with—" she blanches, and she clears her throat. "Well, I believe this may be one of Lady Holdo's _personal _books."

Ben stops himself before he can reply foolishly and remind her where his head rests, or worse—remind her he effectively _is_ her paramour. It's a thing neither of them have spoken aloud and it's possible he's imagined it, but Ben doubts that's the case. For now he only laughs. "I'll return it to Lady Holdo."

She nods, her shoulders still shaking with laughter, and the way she stares down at him is full of fondness and something that can't be excused away as friendliness. Her lips purse as she considers him with her hand still tangled in his long hair. She drops the book, and her free hand comes to rest on his shoulder, her fingers caressing over him.

The library doors burst open. It doesn't split them apart—they know by now, simply being caught alone in the middle of the night like this is enough, regardless of what they claim to be doing. With relief, Ben sees it's his uncle standing by the doors, but his aghast expression is enough to force Ben's heart into his throat.

Luke doesn't blink at seeing them together. He doesn't frown or seem surprised at the courting braid in Rey's hair. He only whispers, "Ben, it's your father."

The hand at his shoulder squeezes, grounding him, and Ben is filled with the awful sense that everything is about to change.

* * *

Now that it's been discovered, they come to an unspoken and reluctant agreement that their former nighttime rendezvous location is too high a risk. As a result, it's over half a year before Rey gets another moment alone with him—they share only rare notes, lingering glances, and the faintest touches of their fingertips after the night his father, the Prince Consort, passed in his sleep.

As she climbs the stairs to the tower on the map Ben's drawn her, there's trepidation in her every move. Has he missed her as she's missed him? The times she's seen him, he's looked more gaunt and downtrodden, but it makes her heart flutter to remember how he's seemed relieved with her presence, no matter how brief.

When she arrives at a door, heavy and with ornate carvings, she stills. It'll be impossible to claim she's lost if anyone catches her; this tower is far from her room. Even so, Rey lifts her hand and raps her knuckles against the wood of the door. Not a moment later, Ben swings it open. The concern in his expression melts when he sees her. He grasps her hand and tugs her inside, closing the door behind them.

"You're here," he sighs, and it's a shock when he hugs her to him. They've touched, but never like this. Until now they've been hesitant—a brush of fingers over a forearm, a lingering touch of his fingers at her neck while he braids. This, him wrapping his arms around her waist, holding her against his chest… this is so very new. He's grown taller, and she would fit under his chin, but he bends down to hold her closer. His words are muffled against her shoulder. "I was worried you wouldn't come."

It takes Rey a minute and a bit of courage to sink into his hold, and into the warmth he offers. She's not sure what to say first. There are so many things, both meaningless and meaningful. So many nights she wished to see him and read to him and feel him braid her hair. Now that they're here, Rey's at a loss for words. When she opens her mouth, what comes out is, "I'm so sorry about your father."

"Me, too." Ben lets her go, and the loss of his arms around her is painful. He gestures to a couch, and she takes a moment to inspect the room they're in. It's dimly lit. The surrounding walls are lined with shelves, books stacked in layers on each, and near a window sits a device for seeing the stars. A heavy scarlet rug covers a majority of the floor, bringing warmth to an otherwise cold room. "It's not as nice as the library," he admits, and then hesitates as though awaiting her approval.

"It'll do." She gives him a reassuring smile. "Did you bring a book, or should we find one here?"

His face lights up and the relief at seeing him _happy_ for the first time in half a year is enormous. They find a book of fairy tales similar to one they would have read as children, and Rey picks a story about a lost child-prince who finds his way home as a young man and marries a princess. It's a charming tale, but Ben's face turns to something distressed by the time she finishes it.

"What's wrong?" Rey asks him, placing the book aside in favor of mussing up his long, dark locks. She stares down at where he rests on her lap. His hair has grown longer since they last did this, and as she watches her fingers slide through it, it strikes her not for the first time what an intimacy this is. Does anyone else touch him as she does? Likely not, and certainly not so freely, nor with such a sense of familiarity.

Ben's frown deepens. "Would you mind if I braid your hair? It helps me think."

"Have I ever minded?"

When he doesn't reply and only rises from his spot, she starts to worry. It's unusual for him to be bothered and not tell her why. He walks around the back of the couch to stand behind her, and his fingers find her hair. They still; she's not let down her buns yet.

His voice is whisper soft. "May I?"

There are things she's discussed—with Kaydel, because when she asked Maz, the woman only stared her down and asked for more information—and she knows a few things she didn't understand as a child. Maz would argue she is _still_ a child, but either way, Rey now understands what Ben's truly saying when he asks if he can braid her hair. Perhaps more importantly, she understands what he's saying when he asks to take down her buns.

Rey gives him the slightest nod, and she can hear the breath he takes in. He undoes the ties slowly, one at a time, starting with the lowest. With each spill of an undone bun, his fingers brush through her hair. The silence between them is deafening.

"What's bothering you?" she asks. "Was that a poor choice of story?" She hadn't thought it would be, but he stiffened once she read the prince meeting and marrying a beautiful princess.

"Now that my father's passed, my mother wants me married. Quickly. She's preparing me to take the throne."

The words aren't unexpected, but they take her breath. Rey closes her eyes, trying to focus on how his hands section her hair for a braid. "You don't want to find your princess?"

Ben scoffs. "Any marriage my mother plans for me will be to a stranger, for political reasons." She knows that, but the reminder hurts. "I hope to put it off," he continues. "Perhaps until my twenty-first birthday. I wished for more time, but I worry that's all she'll allow." Quietly, he adds, while weaving the braid he's done for her a hundred times, or maybe more, "I want to marry for love."

She's about to respond, about to sympathize, about to remind him that royals almost never marry for love and that love can grow from fondness. None of it matters—her words dissolve at the feeling of his nose sliding along the skin of her bare neck, and at the feeling of him breathing her in.

None of those words or reassurances matter—not when his lips find her skin and leave a feather-light path across her neck, along the top of her collar.

Her world tilts.

Rey hasn't dared to hope for anything like this, and she turns her head in disbelief. When their eyes meet, they don't speak. He doesn't kiss her again. He only reaches out and takes her chin, sliding his thumb along her bottom lip.

"Would that I could trade my title for your hand," he whispers, his eyes focused on hers. "But I'm afraid nothing is its equal. Not my title, not all my family's wealth—I worry it would all be too poor a trade for _you."_

It feels like she's forgotten how to breathe. All she can do is stare, and his eyes go to her lips. "Tell me I'm not alone in this."

"You're not," she breathes. "Of course you aren't alone—"

Her words are interrupted when the hand at her chin pulls her toward him, closing the distance so he can press his mouth to hers. It's soft and desperate and tender, and Rey wants to cry with the quintessence of it. Ben's lips slide over hers, so slow and so _right_, and she knows then that his feelings match hers.

When they split, his forehead rests against hers, his nose brushing her cheek. His words are a whisper that cut through her heart like a knife. "What I wouldn't give to have you as my princess."

The words are agonizing for the simplest reason: she is not a lady—not a duke's daughter, not a noblewoman from a distant land, and while she may be his, she will never be his princess.

* * *

By the time he turns eighteen, Ben convinces his mother to give him time. He was right about her haste—she only agrees to give him three years, and she doesn't promise to keep his potential suitors from presenting themselves. It's not nearly enough time, but it's easier to convince her to allow him this than it will be to convince her of his need to marry a girl who works in the stables.

He's careful as he slips through the halls, on his way to Rey. He ducks into alcoves as anyone approaches, hiding until they pass; it will raise questions if he is caught anywhere near servant quarters without good reason. Ben makes it there undetected, his eyes darting around for a sign that she's nearby, and he freezes at the familiar voices.

Rey's dulcet tones come from the room he stands outside of. "Oh _Maz,_ these horses are the loveliest I've seen. Taller even than ours, and—"

"Lord Snoke's horses?" Maz asks. She hums. "Yes, they're very nice. Poe told us about them last time Lord Snoke was here." The room goes silent for a moment, just as Ben panics over the risk of being caught. "He's presenting his daughter for the prince's hand."

His panic is forgotten, and Ben almost snorts. He's just left Lord Snoke and his daughter, Gwen, and he's sure his mother was displeased at his loud and outright rejection of the offer.

"The prince's hand? As in marriage?"

The audible pain in Rey's faint voice makes his heart twinge.

Maz sighs. "Best get used to the idea. The prince is of age, and Alderaan needs a Queen… not a besotted girl with her head in the clouds." She pauses. "You'll need to start wearing a braid soon. Have you talked with Poe? He's a nice man. I'm sure he's paid a pittance for his work, but he's kind, Rey, and handsome."

It's a struggle to stay where he is, to not run to his mother and beg. Ben's started wondering why he hasn't tried that tactic yet, because the idea of another man braiding her hair, or even seeing it down, makes him ill.

"Poe is kind. It would be a suitable match," Rey agrees, and then adds softly, "But he's not mine."

"Neither is the prince," Maz mutters.

That's false, though, and he desperately hopes Rey knows it. Before either of the women can continue, he turns. Stomaching more of this isn't possible, so he risks Maz reporting his presence back to his mother, and knocks on the door frame of the room they're in. Rey's eyes flash to his. It looks like she's moments from crying, and if her adopted mother wasn't there wearing a look of exasperation, he'd scoop her into a long hug and kiss away her tears.

"Rey, would you walk with me?" he asks, gesturing out into the hall. They're not a far walk from the gardens and asking that she join him on a walk is far less questionable than asking her to join him in an empty room where they might not be found nor overheard.

The look Maz gives him is disapproving, but she says nothing, only shakes her head and leaves the room through another door.

Once they're alone, he reaches out and takes her hand, squeezing it. It's brief—their location isn't private enough for more, but it's more comforting than anything else he can imagine. Rey follows him through the castle and outside to the gardens that have emptied now that the season is turning colder.

Finally, when they're a good walk from the castle, she whispers, "Are you accepting her hand?"

Ben stops in his tracks. "Whose? Gwen's?" Even to himself, he sounds startled. "_No."_

"Why not?" The way she asks is curious, perhaps a _little_ upset, but her tone isn't challenging. It's as though she genuinely believes he might consider marrying someone who isn't her. "Is she not a good match? Why wouldn't you accept?"

Her echoes her words softly. "Because she's not mine." When his fingers catch on hers, it's so brief anyone who sees it could think it an accident, but Rey's breath stutters.

"Ben," she whispers, glancing around with concern. "We can't—"

He interrupts before she says the words he won't hear, "Come with me. We can leave. Run, just us. We can find someone to marry us, find a place to live, far from here." It's not an idea he's previously considered, certainly not something he's spoken aloud, but it's tempting all the same. "Please."

Rey's expression softens. "You know we can't. You have no siblings, no one else to take the throne."

He knows. He knows, and he can't bring himself to care about the damned throne, not when she exists, and not in a world where if he has the throne, she can't be his. What is the point of power, and crowns, and jewels, and all those worthless, pointless, pretty things, if he can't choose who to share them with?

She murmurs it again, squeezing his hand. "It's not possible, Ben."

His jaw steels. "Then I will find another way." He meets her eyes and wonders if she can tell, how faded his world is when she's not in it. "My mother wants me married. I need to figure out _something."_

Her inhale is audible, and a tear runs down her cheek. "I know. But a wall divides us and I lack the power to tear it down." She shakes her head. "Ben, I work in the stables. I don't even work inside the castle. I'm nothing, came from the streets, I—"

Ben refuses to hear it, and his fear of being caught falls away. He interrupts her the best way he knows how—with his mouth. He grips the back of her head, tipping it back, pulling her closer with a hand at her waist, and kisses her. It's unlike their previous testing kisses; it's desperate and hungry.

And damn anyone who may be watching. He hopes they see. He hopes they see and report it back to anyone who will listen.

When he lets her go, what he feels dips almost into anger. "You may come from nothing," he huffs. "You may be convinced you are nothing, but it's laughable how exceedingly wrong you are. You've never been more wrong in your entire existence." Rey stiffens at his tone, preparing to be offended, and he continues, his voice softening. A smile grows on his face as he shakes his head at her. "You may think you are nothing, but I don't care where you came from—I know who you are, and you are _everything_ to me."

Ben kisses her again, and when she cries, it's not from sadness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're unfamiliar with my MO, please know that I tend to fix angst _very_ quickly.

Rey wears a braid now. Her buns are gone—she's been of age for over a year, and they're considered improper, much more so than they were when she was a child. Her hair is in a plain plait and hangs over one shoulder. Ben _hates_ it with a burning rage; it signifies that she's unmatched and available for courting, but she's very much not.

He tugs at it gently, tipping her head back while he kisses the soft skin of her neck and revels in the breathy sounds she makes. Her fingers tangle in his hair and squeeze at his side, keeping him close and encouraging his wandering mouth.

It's been an entire week since they've seen each other, and while once a separation of only a week would have felt like a blessing, now it feels like a sentencing. The only thing that keeps him sane is the agreement they made that day in the garden, months ago; they will try to find a way.

"I missed you, too," she whispers, amused by his mauling of a greeting. "But perhaps we should at least attempt subtlety."

Ben sighs against her shoulder. She has a point—the alcove they're in is only a short distance from where his family and their guests eat dinner. Getting caught would surely simplify things, but Rey's insisted they still sneak around until they've found a way to marry. He stands upright, placing a soft kiss at her brow. "I'm sorry. And I'm sorry for my absence. With the spring celebrations, my mother's been accepting more meeting requests from potential suitors, and she's insisted on private lessons with her."

"Which are necessary for a future ruler," Rey reminds him, then amends, "The lessons. Not the suitors. Those you can send away. Far, far away."

A grin grows on his lips. "Always."

She lets out a quiet laugh and kisses him again, and all this trouble—all this sneaking around and missing her and worrying about their future—it's worth it, all over again. When they split, mentions of subtlety forgotten, Rey nods toward a nearby library. Their old spot. His uncle Luke's aware and long past the point of discovering their involvement, but the man's not passed judgement, nor told a soul.

With a glance around the hall, Ben slips into the room behind her, and his hands go to her braid in an instant. "I'm fixing this," he grumbles. "This braid is _sacrilege_. I may love you, but I hate this braid."

Again, she laughs, though now that they're in private it's her true laugh, loud and cheerful. "I'll sit while you fix it," she agrees, and for a moment he wonders if she's only humoring him, but she relaxes considerably once he's taken the braid down and started putting in a more fitting one.

He's improved over the years, no doubt helped by nearly nightly practice. Lady Holdo has been suspicious for years, commenting on his rapid advancements—as of yet he hasn't had the nerve to admit he's been putting courting and betrothal braids into the hair of a woman who would never be approved for even courting, though he suspects Lady Holdo either knows or has guessed.

Rey doesn't know of all the braids he's done for her, either. She's aware of the courting braid—the reverse three-strand, but lately the one he's been weaving is four-strand and drapes _just so_. If his mother saw it, Ben's sure she'd fly into a panic.

That's the one he braids tonight. Even the courting braid feels wrong, more so now that he's offered to run from his duties to be with her. He finishes the betrothal braid and ties it off, leaving Rey a kiss at the top of her head. He sighs at the rightness of it, and she tips her head back to smile up at him.

His fingers glide and ghost along her jaw until he's cupping her face. He kisses her like this, leaning down over her while she's upside down, his mouth moving over hers tenderly, as though it might be possible to fit almost a decade of love into a kiss. Ben's not sure it's possible, but he tries, and Rey reaches up to pull him closer.

It never strikes him that the excuse he gave at dinner was a poor one. It never crosses his mind that his mother might come to ensure he's taken tea for his headache, or that, with the library so close to the dining room, this spot might be one she would check. All of those considerations pale next to the soft sounds Rey makes, and even more so when compared to the way she whispers, "I love you," against his lips.

When the door opens and someone lets out an audible gasp, he's barely aware, too busy licking into Rey's mouth.

Rey notices. She pulls away and ducks out of his grasp, wide eyed and fidgeting and trying to catch her breath before she's forced to acknowledge that his mother has seen them. The expression on his mother's face is, at best, stricken. She schools it into something unreadable, and when Rey stands to curtsey, his mother waves the gesture away.

_That's_ when the Queen sees Rey's braid. She stills, and her composure wavers. Her lips flatten, and her eyes close while she lets out a breath.

Perhaps if she believed Rey was only a dalliance—the thought pains him—she would have let their embrace pass with a disapproving expression, but with an obvious betrothal braid, that ship has sailed. Ben walks around the couch to take and squeeze Rey's hand, trying to reassure her that he will take care of things, because while he may not be sure of how to do so, he _will._

At the gesture, his mother clears her throat. "Rey, I believe?" Next to him, Rey nods, and his mother continues, "Perhaps now is a good time to retire for the evening, while I talk with my son. Do you need help letting down your braid? I don't believe it would be… _prudent_ to wear it out of the room."

"Ben usually unbraids—" His gaze cuts to her, wide and surprised by her admission, and Rey shuts her mouth. Him unbraiding her hair is a far more scandalous thing than their kissing. His mother looks unsurprised and unimpressed. "Ah. No, your majesty," Rey says quietly. "I'll do it myself."

Her fingers work quickly and her face reddens, as she undoes his work and plaits the expected braid. He hates every minute of it. Those should be his fingers, and the style she puts her hair in is a lie, and now even the Queen knows it.

Before his mother excuses Rey, he kisses her cheek, whispering words of love and reassurance, and then she's out the door, leaving him standing in front of the Queen with no excuse nor care for one.

His mother's words are direct. "Does she understand that was a betrothal braid? Has anyone seen her with it?"

"No." The word is sour in his mouth. It shouldn't matter—the intention is there. Even so, his mother relaxes. Not much, but enough to frustrate him, and he grimaces. "I plan to tell her."

She scoffs and shakes her head. "You will not." At his challenging expression, she sighs, and walks over to sit on the plush couch, motioning for him to sit and join her. She straightens out the deep reds of her skirts, and explains, "There's a reason your potential suitors are of a certain kind. Do you believe Rey's life has prepared her to be a Queen? Do you believe she would be happy doing the work of a Queen?" Her voice softens, "I don't mean to offend. I understand passion, and love, but I hope to see you married by your next birthday, and asking her to take your hand is not a trifling request. It's not how things are done."

Ben sinks—both into the couch and a melancholy mood—as she continues. "Rey is a lovely young woman, but you mean to tie her down, and fill her life with rules and expectations she's unprepared for. Young love comes with few cares, but a marriage to a king will not."

The words spear his heart, because there is truth to them. It's not something he's considered, and it's painfully real.

"Asking this of her is unfair," his mother murmurs.

She goes silent, awaiting his response, and slowly his gloominess is replaced by something hotter. Something more like rage. "What you ask of _me_ is unfair," he argues. He glowers at her, snapping, "You ask me to forget my love, and accept an arranged marriage—within the year! _You_ married for love and that's all I ask. Is the difference between you and me truly only the class into which my love was born?"

Ben's seething and has undoubtedly overstepped, but a strange expression crosses his mother's face. It's not one of anger. She looks to the doors, ensuring they're closed, and she swallows. "Truthfully, there is very little difference," she admits.

It's far from the reaction he expected, and for a moment Ben's hostility comes to a halt. He gestures for her to explain. It's rare that he sees the Queen hesitant with her words.

When she does not continue, he prods, "Father was a Duke from Corellia. Rey came from the streets of Jakku. While I would argue the difference is meaningless, I thought-"

"Your father was not a Duke," she whispers. Ben's eyes flick to her in surprise, and she continues, "That's only the story my parents told their subjects, after a nobleman came from Corellia to court me, and I fell in love with his coachman. I gave them little choice when I threatened to abdicate." Her expression turns fond, and she adds, "Your uncle _did_ abdicate—he had little interest in ruling as it was, and he knew of my love for your father. He chose to leave them without another option."

Ben sits there, stunned, and processes the story. Slowly, he murmurs, "You fell in love with a coachman, and so you could marry him, a prince abdicated, you threatened to do the same, and my grandparents sold a lie to an entire kingdom, and you— you would _dare_ to keep me from marrying Rey?" The sneer his lips form into is impossible to hide, "Are you purposely cruel, or have you forgotten what it is to love someone?"

Her eyes close. "I am sure I deserve that. But hear me. You do not have the option I had-your father was a stranger here and few questions were asked once the King introduced him to the court as a Duke who had intentions to marry me. You cannot sell the same lie; Rey has grown up in the castle. Claiming she is a lady, or some other noblewoman, will not work-every servant, every visitor who has arrived with horses for our stables and met her, will know.

Ben works his lips, hating that he's listening to her.

"But more than that, what you ask of Rey is unfair," she murmurs. "And now you know I have the experience to claim such a thing. I asked it of your father. I asked him to step into a role he was unprepared for. He had dreams beyond this castle, and to show my love, I put him in a lavish cage. I could never have asked for a better husband, or a better man to be your father, but if I could undo my choice and still have you, I might consider letting him free. Some days I wonder if I truly loved him with all my heart—if I had, I doubt I would have tied him to my obligations."

His mother's hair is still in a mourning braid, twisted with the red ribbon marking a married royal, and Ben wonders how his father would feel, hearing her words.

She sighs again. "I want—I _so_ desperately want you to marry for love. But I have concerns that cannot be ignored. Your father and I were forced to live with a secret for our entire marriage for fear that the truth would weaken our position as royals. As she's known here, you and Rey lack even that option." She shakes her head. "You ask to thrust Rey into a world she is wholly unprepared for, and I beg you to consider for whom you would do such a thing. Even if you had the option of the lie, would you do it for her, or do you do it for _you?"_

Her warm brown eyes flick to his. "Do you love her? With all your heart?"

"I love her with everything," he whispers, his mind spinning.

Sadness crosses her face, and she reaches over to squeeze his knee. Her words are a whisper laced with the sympathy and pain of someone who understands.

"Then hear me and let her free, because your marriage is not possible, and you do her no favors by pretending it is."

The thought steals his breath in the most excruciating way.

* * *

For the first month after being discovered by the Queen, she suspects Ben might be swept up in extra lessons with his mother. When the first month bleeds into the second and Rey hasn't so much as walked past him in the hall, she knows he's evading her, and she wonders if her heart might break.

Rey hasn't set eyes on him in three months when she stands on a balcony, having begged off her duties in the stables for an afternoon. She watches a lord present Kaydel with a lavender ribbon for her hair while they sit in the garden Ben once took her to. The marriage will make Kaydel a lady, elevating her status by a great deal, and it will take her from the castle. Rey watches the couple surrounded in felicity. It hurts. She casts her eyes down when they kiss.

_You may think you are nothing, but I don't care where you came from—I know who you are, and you are everything to me._

His words were so pretty, but Rey worries more with each passing day that they were only words. She knows, deep down, that isn't the case. She still worries she might be wrong.

"A smart match," says a soft voice, from her side.

Rey stills when she hears him. She glances over and wants to cry with relief, wants to kiss him, but Ben's expression is one of stone. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his once bright gaze has dimmed a little. He looks weary.

"Do you wish to make one yourself?" he asks, his voice rough, and thick. "I need to know. If I could find you a husband who would treat you kindly without saddling you with the weight of a crown, would you want that?"

The idea is an anathema. Rey recoils. "No," she blurts. "No, gods no, of course not."

He lets out a breath of relief. His next words are as gentle as the light summer breezes that wash over them. "And if you could still have me, royal obligations included? If I could arrange it?"

It's not possible, no matter how she wishes it. Rey can't bear to remind him, but she knows it—the Queen has made that clear as day. The firm scolding from Maz, coupled with the aggressive way in which potential suitors have arrived for Ben, was a clear message. The Queen's offer to find her work elsewhere drove it in further.

Rey's gaze lifts to his. "Have you also learned to change the tides?"

"If you asked it of me," he whispers, "I would spend my life learning to move the moons."

The sincerity in his tone is heartening, but makes what she needs to say harder. Rey swallows. "Ben, we both know you are unable."

His hand brushes hers. "For you, I would try."

Rey tears her eyes from his hand, and looks back to the happy couple, now walking through the gardens, wrapped in a sweet embrace. It's a cruel reminder of what she won't have.

"I won't ask for celestial miracles. I've only wished for you," she murmurs. With a look at him, she adds, with a hint of a sad smile, "Though perhaps those are one and the same."

His expression softens, and he looks much more like the Ben she knows and loves. "I thought you'd be angry with me. I hope you know how impossible it was to stay away, but I was afraid my mother would send you from the castle."

"She wants to," Rey sighs. "Maz is upset, but seems to think it a good option. I've given her a wide berth in hopes that she'll rethink it. And I assume someone has intercepted my messages to you."

The fresh pain on his face is evident. "And mine to you, I suppose." His mouth works, and his eyes squeeze shut. "Perhaps it is a good option. You, leaving. I've been reminded of the weight of a crown, and I worry it's too heavy. Too much of a burden to ask you to bear." His tone drops to a low murmur. "It's something we need to discuss, because I believe I know how we could marry. It's been done before. Our route will need to be different, more drastic, but it's possible." He pauses. "Still, I'm hesitant—I worry you might resent me for trapping you with expectations you don't wish to fill."

Her heart stutters. He has a solution, but he's _hesitant?_

Rey gapes at him. He must be a fool. At her shocked laugh, his eyes cut to hers, his expression one of confusion. Slowly, she says, "For all your books, and lessons, and languages, you are—you… you are _utterly_ daft."

Ben's brows draw together. She rolls her eyes at him and says dryly, "I think your footman is calling; his horse seems to be missing its ass." Rey shakes her head. "Really, Ben. Your mother must have employed terrible tutors, because if you think even for the briefest moment that being married to you wouldn't be worth every bit of—"

He advances and shuts her up with his lips, pressing her back against the half-wall of the balcony. The kiss is such sweet relief after three long months that she moans into him. With hands braced on his chest, she pulls at the fabric of his clothes, urging him on until he's nipping at her bottom lip. He kisses like he's trying to consume her.

Rey thinks she might let him.

It's only the sound of something far off that breaks them apart, but when the kiss ends, Ben still has her pressed to the wall with the length and heat of his body. He looks down, that umber gaze boring into her, and whispers, "You'd still have me, even though I come with a crown? You would someday be Queen, with all the obligations of the title, just to have me, no matter what it might take?"

The expression she gives him is withering. "I thought we'd decided this. For all your training and intelligence, you're just as blinded by the sheen of that gilt as the rest of them. I swear, never let it be said that blue blood runs quick." She sighs. "Yes, I'd marry you, even with the obligations and drastic measures. Now that we've discovered why you often let others speak in your stead, put your mouth to better use and kiss me before you say another absurd thing."

Ben blinks at her.

The wide grin that cracks across his face is blinding, and he leans down, his eyes watery. Rey lifts on her toes, and against his lips, she mutters, "I love you, you silly, stupid fool."

She can feel his smile when she kisses him.


	4. Chapter 4

The Queen's office is less ornate than many would guess. A wide chestnut desk sits with a high-backed chair with blood-red velvet upholstery, and the wall Ben's glazed eyes scan comprises shelves of countless books. His mother drones on, but he can't take his mind off how much Rey would love to pour over the shelves in this room. If he brought her here, he'd be forced to carry her out—she would live in a library if it was possible.

He'll send out for books from faraway lands—Coruscant, Bespin, maybe—once they're married. Perhaps that will be his wedding present to her.

The thought of their intended marriage snaps him back to attention. _This_ is not a usual lesson with his mother. Ben's twenty-first birthday is in a mere week, and thus, the Queen's deadline is impending. She wants him married, and he listens as she goes on about the ball she's arranging. Off to the side, his uncle smirks, as if knowing how he's failed to pay attention.

"It's an opportune time to find a wife," she repeats, still looking hopeful. Ben loves his mother, but he's let her assume he intends to go along with her plans for his future, when really, he's been biding his time for this exact event. "Invitations have been sent to all marriageable women in the area, though Lord Snoke's daughter would make the best match."

Ben hums. "She would make a fine queen." There's no lie to it. Gwen is kind, but firm, well-educated, and personable, so the words come easily. His uncle's eyebrows quirk, as if in surprise. Ben pauses and stares down at the scarlet ribbon his mother handed him not ten minutes earlier. Softly, he gives her one more chance as his fingers smooth over the satin. "You'd never have let me marry Rey, would you? No matter how kind, nor educated, nor skilled in politics she could be? No matter how much I love her? It was set in stone from her birth, wasn't it?"

Across the desk from him, his mother's shoulders droop. "I'm sorry," she sighs. "The circumstances—it's simply not done. It would cause an upset." She hesitates, and says in a way she undoubtedly thinks kind, though it tears at his heart, "I'm working to find her a match. She's a fine young woman and she shouldn't go unmarried."

"And _so_ well educated, isn't she?" his uncle murmurs through a mischievous grin. His tone is suggestive, and Ben narrows his eyes at him. For whatever reason, his mother believes he hasn't met with Rey since the night she caught them in the library, but that night was six months ago and since, he's seen Rey almost daily. Sometimes nightly, though their stolen kisses have been limited to just that, and lingering touches.

When his mother glances down at a paper to her side, Ben sends his uncle another warning glare. The man only snorts, unintimidated. Looking back to his mother, Ben sighs, and plasters on a sad smile. His next words are among the hardest he's spoken. "As you said, it's simply not done. It's a shame, as we would be a fine match, but I hope she marries a kind man. Please try to find one who will treat her well."

The Queen stares at him, and her expression fills with relief. "I will. I appreciate that you understand what must be done."

"Oh, I understand very well," he reassures. Ben's sure his lips curl up when he adds, "I've started to learn that I must do what I feel needs to be done in _all_ parts of life, even when it may cause upset. I believe it will make me a better ruler."

His mother nods wisely. Continuing on, she gestures to the ribbon he holds, "Make the choice carefully. It would be ideal if a young woman left the ball with a marriage ribbon for her hair."

Luke's eyes are trained on him, studying him, but Ben ignores him and leans across the desk to take his mother's hand. He squeezes it and sees the kindness in her eyes—the good intentions. "I promise you," he says, his words measured, "A woman will leave the ball with this marriage ribbon. I will be married by my birthday, as we agreed, and I will make the choice I believe best for both myself and the throne."

When he stands to leave, his mother looks more relaxed, and his guilt lasts for only a moment until he remembers _she_ was allowed to marry for love, but would take that right from him. It's inexcusable, even if the circumstances differ slightly. She may have her reasons, and some of them may be just, but it leaves him no less angry. There's a surge of fury, mixed with an annoying amount of understanding for her position, and he swallows the conflict.

His mind is made. She will either learn to live with it and help him manage the consequences of what he's about to do, or she will be angry. By then, he'll be married to Rey, and he doubts he'll care which of those his mother chooses.

She dismisses him with a smile, and Ben only gets halfway down the hall when his uncle sweeps in behind him, grabs him by the elbow, and tugs him into a private, dimly lit alcove. Ben's a second away from voicing his displeasure at being manhandled when Luke chuckles lowly.

"You've loved that girl since you were a child, and now you're happy to marry her off to another man?" He tilts his head. "I don't believe it. Not _once_ have you sought my counsel on this, though I've kept your secret, which leads me to assume you've found your own strategy. I only hope it's better than the one your parents planned. I know your mother told you."

Ben hesitates. It goes against his instincts to share his plan, but his uncle hasn't told a soul, and there's been plenty to tell. He gave up a _throne_ to help his sister marry her love—there's no doubt he can be trusted. The bonus of explaining his plan is that his uncle can confirm whether it will work.

In a hushed tone, Ben says the bare minimum. "In my lessons, Lady Holdo informed me that it is nearly impossible for a royal to go back on a ribbon proposal once it's made public. She explained that it is, arguably, far more inconceivable than breaking any other social rule… even those related to matters of status."

A slow grin spreads across his uncle's face as he puts it together. "You're forcing your mother's hand. I assume you're doing so with witnesses. Perhaps many of them? A whole room of them, maybe?"

"She's given me no other option."

"This will cause an upset, I hope you realize. Not to say you shouldn't do it," Luke adds hastily. "But be prepared. People know Rey is of lower class, and some will be quick to argue your match is a sign of a weakening throne. People have warred for less."

Ben's jaw sets. "It's this, or I abdicate and the Naberrie line ends. Which do you think my mother would prefer?"

His uncle nods, laughing again, muttering something about _your father's son,_ but at the briefest mention of Han, his expression turns serious. He leans back against a wall and sighs. "I know what your mother told you. She's been overwhelmed with guilt over this. Please try not to hold it against her. She was heartbroken when your father died, and I believe she still worries he would have been happier without—" he recites the next part, as though he'd heard it a hundred times, "_all the burdens that come with a crown."_

Luke tilts his head. "The truth is, your father loved her as much as any person can love another. The burdens never once weighed him down, not when his love for Leia lifted him the way it did. I'm sure Rey will feel the same way."

"I hope that's true," Ben murmurs. It's a fear that's been in the back of his mind, that they'll be married and over the years she'll grow to resent him, but whenever he spirals into that fear, he remembers her words.

_If you think even for the briefest moment that being married to you wouldn't be worth every bit of_—

"Something to remember," his uncle hums, forcing him from his thoughts. "The biggest favor you've done for Rey is give her the right to choose for herself. Now that she has, you need only trust her, and do what needs to be done." He winks. "Good luck."

Ben swallows.

* * *

There's a dress splayed over the settee in the tower room they've used for many nights of reading. Rey stares at it, her arms crossed over her middle. It's creamy white lace with a bodice that cuts lower on her chest than anything she's worn, but not inappropriately so. The sleeves are wide and fluttery, also lace, and the beading covering the bodice is stunning.

Frankly, she's sure it's meant to be a wedding dress rather than a dress for a ball, but she doesn't speak this aloud because Ben seems proud of his choice.

Wearing this would be one of the most improper things she's done, Rey thinks. More improper than kissing the prince, more improper than ignoring her mother's wishes—possibly more improper than what she got up to the evening before this… sitting astride Ben's lap while fingers slid up her thighs, under her skirts, and while his mouth found her edge of her dress' neckline.

Or, perhaps she's wrong, and _that_ is the most improper thing she's done. Rey blushes at the memory of it and turns her attention back to the dress. This gown, while lovely, is very much not for her, and yet Ben's standing there smiling, awaiting her approval.

He's gone mad. It's a pity. An absolute waste of such a handsome man.

"Am I meant to wear this to the ball?" she asks in disbelief. She's aware of a plan he has, but he's not yet clued her in, and she was under the assumption she was attending said ball as staff, not as a guest.

His expression turns puzzled. "Won't it fit? Is the color not—"

"It's exquisite," she interrupts, before he can worry further. She pauses. "Is this part of your plan somehow?" For a moment it seems he doesn't wish to answer, but then he nods. "And is there a good reason you haven't told me your plans?" Another nod. Rey narrows her eyes at him, then sighs. "Look away while I change?"

Ben's eyebrow quirks. "Must I? Is there a point to it? I'll see you soon enough."

She gives him a _look,_ and he rolls his eyes, but turns to inspect a painting with false interest. As she begins unlacing her current dress, something much plainer than the one he's brought, Ben says lowly, "Would you have me tonight? After the ball?"

Rey almost trips stepping out of her dress—his tone leaves nothing to question. She clears her throat. "You would take me before my wedding night?" Her voice comes out breathy, rather than amused, as she teases, "But the _scandal."_

She's sure they've both considered it—often, on her part, and for years—but discussing it is another matter. It's a blessing his back is still to her. Her cheeks must be flushed scarlet.

"Your betrothed wouldn't mind." The grin in his voice is audible. His words are salacious. "And you speak as though I wouldn't take you right now. Of all the things we do tonight, that would hardly be the most scandalous." With a sigh, he adds, "But I'd prefer to have you in my bed rather than on a couch, and I am afraid once I have you, I don't intend to let you dress again for quite some time. Seeing that there are guests waiting for me downstairs, I suppose we'd better wait."

Rey purses her lips, holding the gown he's brought to her chest. She starts to dress, not replying. His words are flattering ones—tempting ones, too, but they fill her with trepidation. They are too wonderful to be true. "Are you so sure your plan will work?" she asks softly.

His gaze flashes over his shoulder to her, but the dress covers her now, only needing to be buttoned up her back. Still, his cheeks go pink. "I am sure. Do you trust me?"

Her lips curl into a smile. "I do." She arranges the skirts that flow around her and takes a few sets toward him, lifting a hand to his shoulder. With a bite at her lower lip, she glances up at him. "Help me with the buttons?"

The dress is more beautiful now, as she looks at it closely. It fits her well, the lace of the bodice hugging to her abdomen and bosom. Ben stands behind her, lacing and buttoning, his hands slipping to brush and trail along her spine as he works. When he's got it finished, he kisses her neck, soft and slow. She leans back into him and lets her eyes flutter closed.

"I need to braid your hair," he whispers.

Rey frowns. It's not that she minds, but wearing anything other than her current braid—the plain plait suggesting her single status—in public is a surprising choice. Ben seems to sense her confusion. "It's nothing to worry about," he reassures her, "Only a style to help you fit in amongst the guests."

She's unaware of most braiding traditions—at least the ones that don't apply to her, and as she is a common woman, most don't. There's her current braid and the one she would presumably wear if she was wed to another commoner, but Ben's weaved her hair into braids she would never wear otherwise. So it's not a surprise that there may be a special braid for events she's not yet heard of.

Still, there's something to note in his tone. Rey's unsure of what it is, though. After only a moment's pause, she nods, and sits on the couch while he walks behind her and brushes out her hair with his fingers. Ben's touch is more hesitant than it has ever been, since the very first time he gave her a braid. She swears his hands are shaking.

"Is something wrong?" she asks. "If your plan concerns you, we could find another way."

His words are achingly soft and genuine. "The opposite. Nothing's felt more right."

Rey's unsure of what to take from his words, so she closes her eyes and sighs, relaxing into the feeling of his fingers working her hair into a new shape she's not yet had him braid. It wraps her head and takes him longer, which is a relaxing change. She remembers being a child the first time she allowed him this, and she smiles at the memory. "Do you remember your first braid? The one you did for me? You were so frustrated."

He snorts. "Frustrated? No. I was nervous. Smitten, too. You were so pretty, and I had never seen a girl with her hair down."

"_Nervous?"_ Rey laughs.

"Of course." She can hear the smile in his voice. "You were my closest friend. My only friend, and I was a child braiding a courting braid into your hair. Did you think I wouldn't be nervous?"

She hums. "And what sort do you braid into it now?"

His hands still, only for a moment, and return to weaving. "One that makes me equally nervous," he murmurs. "But one that is as equally correct as that first courting braid."

It's only a minute more when his hands stop their work, and he slides pins into her hair to hold the braid in place. When it's set, the breath he takes in is both audible and shaky. "It's done," he whispers. "It's beautiful. I wasn't sure if I would know how to do it, but—"

Rey frowns and tilts her head back to him. "You've not braided this kind before?"

Ben, still a little wide-eyed, shakes his head. "It's not one that's learned. Not in lessons. It—" he stops and presses a kiss to her temple. "Ask me again later. We should leave if we mean to arrive on time."

"Allow me a moment?" She quirks a brow. "I'd like some color for my cheeks. There's a mirror in—"

"No mirror," Ben blurts.

Rey narrows her eyes at him. "Why? What have you done?"

If he's left another mark on her neck...

His throat bobs. "Nothing you'll disapprove of." He schools away his frantic expression, and comes around the couch, taking her hand. She stands, peering up at him in hopes he'll give his plan away.

When he doesn't, she sighs. "But my cheeks—-"

"I know a better way to redden them," he interrupts, his once panicked face sliding into more of a grin. Rey's mid-laugh when he leans down and kisses her tenderly. His lips work over hers in a way that suggests they have more time than they do, but since Rey's come to wonder if everything else stops when he kisses her, she says nothing about their timeliness.

There's a twinge in her gut at the brief worry that this could be their last kiss. She may trust him, but Ben is not yet King, and his mother is determined to see him married to a highborn woman. It's true that tonight, a woman will likely leave with a scarlet marriage ribbon, and no matter how Rey wishes it could be her… that ribbon is not meant for her. As far as she knows, there is a very real possibility that someday soon, she could see it braided into another's hair.

Ben doesn't interrupt their kiss to ask why tears stream down her face.


	5. Chapter 5

The route they take to the ballroom is roundabout. Not a single person sees them along the way, and whenever they hear footsteps, Ben tugs her into a small sitting room until they pass. When it happens for the third time, Rey frowns at him and asks, "I'm sure I'm not intended to be a guest, but would the other servants be _so_ surprised by my presence at the ball? It's unusual, but—"

"It would be best if we remain unseen before we arrive," he interrupts, with no explanation. His mouth works. "To be honest, we cannot enter together. I will enter through the main doors, and my uncle will let you in at a different entrance—if we enter together, through the doors the other guests are using, we will be stopped before we enter the room."

Rey's eyes narrow. "Explain."

He does not. Instead, he catches her face in his hands and meets her eyes, studying her. "Are you sure you wish to marry me? It will be simpler to turn back now if you have doubts. I would understand. What we plan to do breaks rules many do not realize have been broken before, and though we will be married, it may be difficult while the kingdom adjusts."

For all her assurances, Ben seems concerned to hear her answer. It gnaws on her, wondering what he's done, but she takes comfort in knowing he's done it for them.

She quirks an eyebrow at him. "Ask me again and I may reconsider my answer." Then she gives an exasperated sigh. "No, that's not true. I would never give another answer, but _please_ stop asking. We promised we would find a way and there is one. I have no intention of breaking my word now."

There's relief on his face, but he hesitates, and directs his attention back to the hallway. "They've passed." With a hand grasping hers, he tugs her out into the hall and speed-walks around the corner while she hisses more demands for an explanation. It feels like she's a child again, and he's the silly prince insisting they need stolen pastries to enjoy a book. The memory fades her annoyance into amusement, and she falls into the safety net that is her trust in Ben. It feels like jumping off a tower and hoping he'll catch her, but she knows the risk is worth taking.

They arrive in front of double doors, but they aren't the doors she expected to take. The ballroom is two-storied—the first floor wide open for dancing, and the second with only a balcony and a large staircase down onto the ballroom floor. She assumed she would enter through the servant's doors, but now they stand in front of double doors that would take her to the balcony, which implies that she'll be walking down the staircase reserved for grand entrances, much like the royal family would make.

Rey blinks at it, and at the man standing there, waiting for them. Ben's uncle is dressed similarly to Ben, in deep garnet edged in gold. He wears a smirk, but his mouth opens when he sees her, and his smile turns soft.

"The color suits you," Luke murmurs.

She tilts her head. The dress Ben's picked for her is lovely, of course, but—

Ben's quick to chime in. "Yes, the white of her dress _does_ suits her."

"Ah." Luke huffs. "I assume you have not filled Rey in. The Solo bloodline has not failed to retain its foolish ways, I see."

She stills, looking between the men. Her amusement has run out, and she demands, "One of you will tell me what that means. I will not enter that room unless—"

Luke laughs. "Already making demands of princes. An excellent choice you've made, Ben. I mean that genuinely." With that comment, the man gestures toward the door. "I meant nothing by my comment, Rey," he promises. "While I may question my nephew's decisions often, the choice to marry you is not one I disagree with."

The words are kind, but she still frowns. There's a nervous energy to the man next to her, and Ben rubs at his neck, his throat bobbing. He kisses her cheek. His long hair brushes against her shoulder when he dips down. "Please trust me," he says softly. "Everything will make sense soon." With a pause, he admits, "I'm afraid if I explain now, you might not allow it."

Rey stares at him, wide-eyed. "That's a _terrible_ reason not to tell me!"

He purses his lips. "I'm sure you're right."

Then he turns and hurries off before she can further express her annoyance. She gapes at where he stood and scoffs. Her gaze cuts to Luke. "After so many years of friendship, one would think I would understand the full range of his idiocy. Perhaps the fact that he's still able to surprise me should say something."

Luke lets out a quiet laugh. "I'm sure it will keep your marriage from lapsing into boredom."

"You'll not tell me either, I assume?"

"Ah, no. It's something for my nephew to explain."

That's not a surprising response, so she doesn't scowl, and instead gestures toward the doors. "I suppose you mean for me to enter? Isn't it quite improper for me to go in this way? I thought this entrance, and the staircase, was reserved for the royal family."

Luke hesitates, as if unsure how to respond. "I think… I think the entry you choose has little bearing on how the evening goes. Once you enter the room, as you are, the night will likely go one way and the door you use will be the least of anyone's concern."

By now she's tired of these half-truths and careful words, and she looks to him with a withering expression. "I suppose I'll enter, then," she says dryly.

"I suppose you shall."

With a hint of a grin, he opens the doors, and she takes a deep breath.

It's like stepping into another life. If all goes well this evening, Rey supposes that's exactly what it is. Pleasing music from stringed instruments fills the air and provides a rhythm for the dancing couples who spin around the ornately marbled floor. The balcony she walks out onto is carpeted in rich crimson, and the golden embroidered slippers Ben matched to her dress slide across it.

Queen Leia sits on her throne, talking with a man Rey recognizes as Lord Snoke, but she pays them no mind. As frustrated as she may be with Ben, he seems to believe this plan is a guarantee—the fact that his uncle agrees brings her no small amount of relief—so she ignores the beautiful blonde woman, just a few feet from the throne, who has pulled Ben into a conversation.

The woman is polished, no doubt educated by the finest tutors, and dressed in the same red the royals use for their marriage ribbons—a strategic choice, Rey guesses. This is undoubtedly Gwen, the woman Ben admitted his mother has been pushing him toward.

Either nobody has seen her yet, or Rey passes for staff even in a dress fit for a princess. It's a relief, that she has a moment to collect her thoughts… that she has a moment to study the world she's attempting to join.

From the hallway, Luke clears his throat. "You should go. I will enter from downstairs."

Her heart leaps into her throat. Standing up here on the balcony, unseen or ignored, is one thing. Joining the ball is another. She approaches the staircase, takes the gilded railing, and begins to descend.

Only a few steps in and Ben must notice her, because he stops the conversation he's a part of and stares across the ballroom. He looks breathless. It makes her wonder what he sees. The woman he was talking with—Gwen—turns to see what's caught his gaze, and when her eyes lift to Rey, her jaw drops, along with her wine glass.

Rey stills, halfway down the staircase, while her mind processes that. Gwen's never seen her, and surely cannot know her position at the castle, so what she's shocked by is not that Rey's not meant to be a guest.

The shattered glass and spilled wine attracts more attention, and it's only a moment before the room is silent, save for the music, and staring at her. Rey is half a second from turning and running back out of the room when Ben crosses the room, walking toward the stairs, and sends her a reassuring nod. He waits there for her at the bottom step.

The rest of the staircase is a blur until she gets to him. With an uneasy glance around the room she asks in a hush, "Why are they staring?"

Her eyes go wide when he pulls her into his arms while everyone's watching. Was this his plan? For them to be an obvious couple in public? Rey supposes it _would_ cause an uproar amongst his would-be suitors and all the other guests.

"Dance with me? I'll explain," he promises. Rey nods, feeling baffled as he leads her out into the middle of the floor. People part wordlessly, making a clear path for them, and Ben pulls her into a proper hold, with one hand clasping hers and another at her waist.

The music is slow and sweet, but she's never danced—not like this. He leads, and she falls into step, casting her eyes around. Others have fallen back into the rhythm of the music, but the vast majority of the room is in some state between curious and shocked.

"Why weren't you able to enter with me?" she finally asks. "Why did I make an entrance at all? I assumed I'd stand to the back until you were ready to enact your plan. And why is everyone so… do I _truly_ look so out of place in this dress?" The dresses she sees are not so unlike her own. Perhaps not white, but at the very least, Rey can tell she is neither dramatically over nor under dressed.

Ben swallows. "I entered first to warn my mother in hopes that she might help manage the room's reaction, but Gwen delayed me. As far as your entrance… that _was _my plan. All that's left is managing the consequences." He pauses, and his eyes flick up. "It's not your dress they're looking at. It's your—"

She happens to glance over his shoulder, and that's when she stops, halting their dance and interrupting his words. One of her hands lifts to cover her mouth when she glimpses herself in one of the hanging mirrors, framed in carved dark wood.

Breathing is a necessary thing, but Rey cannot bring herself to do so as she stares past Ben and sees the woman looking back at her.

"Ben," she whispers, "Why is there red in my hair?"

Rey's starting to understand why hardly anyone has moved, and why the Queen, not having been warned, is looking thunderstruck from her throne. A red ribbon in her hair means...

"Because I braided it there," he says, hesitating, as if he's unsure how she'll react.

Her mouth falls open. "You—but—"

Ben silences her, cupping her face, pulling her attention back to him, and he kisses her. It's more of a shock than him kissing her in a garden where only a few of the staff could see—now they're surrounded by Alderaan's upper-class, wealthy citizens with power and money and so many things she's never had.

But she's never wanted the things these people have—not money, nor power, nor station. She's only wanted _Ben_.

The room falls away, and it's like they're children in a tower again, kissing despite the knowledge they can never marry, except now it seems Ben has changed the very definition of the word _never_, because if this means what she thinks it does—

Against her mouth, he murmurs, "Forgive me for doing it this way." He pulls back, his eyes apologetic. "I had to force my mother's hand publicly, but I was afraid you wouldn't let me take the risk." Ben glances around, a little nervously at all the guests who are starting to murmur. "It's public now. The whole kingdom will know by tomorrow. Unless you reject it, there's little anyone can do."

Her head is spinning. "This is your marriage ribbon," she stammers. "Your _marriage_ ribbon, Ben, which braid did you—"

"A bridal crown," he breathes. "Please, it's all I've ever wanted. Be my princess."

"Your _princess_—"

"Be my wife," he says, more softly.

For a moment, Rey finds herself without the words to reply. She knew this was his intention, that if his plan worked, they would be married and she would presumably become a princess, but to announce it so publicly...

Rey can feel the few hot tears that trail down her face, and her lips curl into a slow, stunned smile. "Yes. Of course. _Of course."_

For a moment he's frozen, but then he sweeps her almost clear off the floor with the kiss he plants on her mouth, his lips sliding over hers until Rey's sure they're both crying tears of joy and making quite a scene, but she can't bring herself to care.

A throat clears from a few feet away. They ignore it. Ben tugs her closer, holding her face while his nose nuzzles into her cheek and his tongue slides against hers.

The same throat clears. "Children?" Luke says, sounding faintly amused. "Your Queen would like an audience."

It's only then that they split apart, and Rey turns as scarlet as the ribbon in her hair when she realizes people are now not only staring, but buzzing with anticipation. A spare few—Lord Snoke included—seem outraged.

"To the surprise of no one, your mother would like a word," Luke repeats, with a snort.

Ben blanches, but takes her hand. "I thought she might."

* * *

Not a minute later, they stand before the Queen. He still holds Rey's hand, and it's a struggle not to turn and stare at the crown braid he's wrapped around her head, threaded through with the ribbon he'll braid into it every morning in the future. Despite the trouble they've undoubtedly caused, Ben can't help but grin.

This is uncharted territory—that much he knows. The first time a woman wears the ribboned braid he's put in Rey's hair is at her wedding. The bridal crown is braided by the groom, the morning of, with guidance from matriarchs who know how to weave such a braid.

His hands seem to have done the job well enough on their own.

His mother is… not impressed. That much is clear from the tired look she gives them. She considers them, her eyes going from Rey's braid to her dress, and she snorts. To his shock, the faintest smile appears on her lips.

"I was wondering if you might do something like this," she admits. "I did _not_ expect that you'd jump directly to a bridal crown, and I never thought you'd ask Rey to wear my mother's wedding gown, though it fits as though it was made for her." She pauses, and muses, "I _was_ saving her gowns for your future bride, so I suppose this is appropriate."

To his side, Ben can see Rey turn to gape at him. "You did _what?"_

His mother sighs. "Rey, please tell me he at least explained that braid. It's _not_ a betrothal braid—a bridal crown is worn for the first time at one, and exactly one event, and then from each day forward it's known as a marriage crown until that marriage is severed."

"As of a moment ago, I was informed that it is a bridal crown, but as for the rest, I… was unaware, your Highness," Rey says quietly, her tone laced with something that suggests Ben will receive quite the talking-to when this night is over.

From her throne, his mother groans, resting her forehead on a single perched hand. "I am sure, then, he failed to inform you that him putting that braid in your hair with that ribbon, makes this day your wedding day?"

Rey makes an odd noise—something choked, and Ben isn't certain whether she's about to cry of happiness or yell at him. When she collects herself, she murmurs, her voice tight, "I do _now_, your highness."

"My son didn't involve you in his plan, did he?" his mother asks dryly.

"Not fully," Rey mutters.

Ben shifts his weight from side to side, wondering when he'll be invited to join the conversation, though it's going better than expected. None of their guests have started yelling, and he considers that a success.

His mother sighs, seemingly for the dozenth time. "So like his father." She looks to Rey again, and her voice softens. "In the event that he also failed to tell you this… it is unheard of for a royal—or anyone, for that matter—to go back on a ribbon proposal, and this is quite a bit more than that. You already wear the braid _and_ the ribbon. Now, you need only make vows for it to be official."

He chances a glance at Rey. She's wide-eyed, and he knows that expression. It's the same one she wore the first time he kissed her—a mix of surprise and heartfelt joy.

His mother continues, "Do you understand what this asks of you? What weight this comes with? Are you _sure_—"

"I couldn't be more sure," Rey breathes through a soft smile. Her hand squeezes his.

"You'll marry my son tonight, then? If you wish to exchange vows—"

A cold, furious voice cuts in as Lord Snoke scoffs. "You cannot be serious. This is _utterly_ unacceptable!"

Ben turns his head and blinks. He can't decide if his shock is due to someone daring to argue with the queen, or if it's due to do the rage-filled expression Lord Snoke wears as he hisses the words.

If his mother's expression is any indication, she expected this reaction. Her voice is unusually cavalier as she mutters, "You _are_ a wretched man, aren't you?"

Lord Snoke casts a cruel glare toward Rey, and the urge Ben feels to harm the man is overwhelming. "You would dress up a stable girl and call her an acceptable match for a _prince? _Unmake this now, and we—"

There's a round of murmurs and gasps from the room, undoubtedly as a reaction to his suggestion, and the man's glare widens slightly as his eyes dart around to his peers.

The Queen interrupts with a humorless laugh. "You speak as if that's a simple thing. You would dare demand the breaking of a ribbon proposal, or the undoing of a bridal crown?" she asks, sounding surprisingly amused given the situation. "Lord Snoke, you know as well as I that they are effectively married. While I _may _agree that my son has made a rather interesting decision on behalf of the throne, it's hardly your place to say the same. You'd be better served to bow your head to Alderaan's new princess than to make such demands."

Ben's eyes go wide at her words, and at her apparent and unexpected support.

"She is unprepared!" Lord Snoke snaps. "She's not even educated! How can you—"

A familiar voice chimes in, and Ben's eyebrows raise to see his tutor, Lady Holdo, standing off to the side of the dais, next to his uncle. "Forgive me if it's not my place," she says wryly, in a tone that suggests she's not the least bit sorry, "But I would argue that claim. Rey's been well educated, if that's truly your concern with this matter. Though I assume you're more offended by her station than her education."

Snoke snorts. "You would claim a _stable girl_ is educated well enough—"

Lady Holdo doesn't let him get another word in. "I believe the prince's betrothed has learned nearly every lesson I've given the prince. I've helped provide learning materials to teach Rey not only our history, but languages, math, and a variety of subjects. Would you still define that as uneducated, Lord Snoke? Or would you admit you're simply frustrated that you've failed to get your way?"

Ben's sure his jaw would drop if he wasn't forcing himself to keep a calm expression. He'd suspected his tutor was aware of his relationship, but standing up to defend it at an event such as this was hardly something he expected.

His eyes meet his uncle's, and the twinkle in the man's blue gaze suggests he may have pulled more strings than Ben realized—perhaps even since he and Rey were children.

When Lord Snoke tries to speak again, the Queen rises from her throne and clears her throat. The announcement she makes is far from the one Ben expects. After all, he's forced her hand, and he's been expecting anger—rage, even—but what she gives is far from it.

She addresses the room casually enough for Ben to suspect it was a last minute decision. "For those of you who may be concerned, I endorse my son's marriage to this young woman. Anyone who would choose to argue it is welcome to remain _silent._ Not once has a member of the Naberrie line broken a ribbon proposal, nor gone back on a bridal crown." Her voice lowers, but remains resolute as Ben gives her a look filled with gratitude. "We will not start this eve."

Another murmur breaks out in the room, and Rey squeezes his hand. There isn't another protesting voice, and Lord Snoke's eyes dart around, his face twisting into a grimace.

Quietly, his mother adds, "Would you care to be reminded, Lord Snoke, of the power the throne holds? You _do_ seem stressed. Perhaps your title weighs you down. I'm sure I can assist if that's the case."

It's a whispered threat, full of promise, and despite all the rage-inducing demands she's made of him recently, Ben feels a rush of pride at their relation.

The man swallows. He hesitates, seems to consider her words, and his lips flatten into a thin line. "An interesting match," he hisses. "I can only hope it does not weaken your position. Please allow me to express my concern over this foolishness."

His mother's response is an exasperated sigh. "Your concern is noted."

Snoke stares at her, seeming to expect more of a response, and when she only waves him off he lets out an aggravated exhale and spins on his heels, storming off.

The Queen hums, and watches after him. "I suppose he'll be a problem." Ben meets her eyes, and she gives him a pointed look. "I expect you'll assist me with any necessary diplomatic solutions. You _are_ responsible for this situation, after all."

"Of course," he blurts, his head reeling. "I'll help any way I can."

She nods, placated, and gives a soft smile as her eyes drift down to where he's grasping Rey's hand. The music is still playing, and most of their guests seem to have gone back to socializing—or, more likely, gossiping—so for now the attention is off them.

His mother's words are whisper-quiet as she looks to Rey. "Would you like to make vows now? I don't mean to rush you, but it would be unusual if you were not married the same day as the braiding of your bridal crown. The vows can be done privately, if you wish. The three of us, perhaps my brother, and Lady Holdo? And your mother, of course."

Rey meets his gaze. It's clear she's still just as overwhelmed by their new reality as he is—the reality where their relationship is not a secret and is miraculously endorsed by the Queen. He suspects they'll both have a lot of adjusting to do, and when he remembers they'll no longer need to sneak around the palace, no longer need to meet with potential suitors, no longer need to wonder if one of them will someday be forced to watch the other marry…

Ben thinks he might cry with relief. Rey pulls him into a hug, her face burying into his chest while she catches her breath. He holds her close, soothing a hand down her back as _reality_ settles in for both of them. His lips press to her forehead.

If he's not mistaken, his mother sniffs.

"You'll marry tonight, then," she confirms quietly. "In my office. And Rey…"

Rey looks up, but stays in his arms, and his mother takes a step forward toward them. "I'm sure you must be aware that I've not endorsed this match until tonight, when my son gave me no other option. Please know, that's not to say I'm not pleased with how this has turned out."

Her lips tug up in a fond smile, and she murmurs, "Han would have been thrilled to see the two of you married. I believe you've been my son's family for quite some time… I suppose it's time we make it official."

Ben watches the woman in his arms take another deep breath. Her eyes flutter closed for a moment, and when she opens them again, a tear slides down her cheek.

Rey looks back to his mother, and nods.


	6. Chapter 6

Their vows are quick. They are not intentionally fast, but they've spent years saying all that needs to be said. Rey's too breathless from all of it—everything from the ring with the royal crest that's slipped on her finger to Lady Holdo's promise to teach her anything she wishes. She can think _just_ clearly enough to mention to her new mother-in-law that the collection of books in her office is a stunning one she'd like to explore.

Leia seems pleased at that and agrees.

It's a whirlwind. Her mother scolds them, only half-serious, and hugs them both, muttering about how she knew Ben would be a difficult young man, but she's crying happy tears all the same.

Luke stands at a distance, still at his sister's desk, smiling at the group as they exchange hugs. He clears his throat. "This is perhaps a suggestion for another day, but it may be time for Alderaan to step into the future. It's possible we could avoid the stress and upset these two—" he nods to where she and Ben stand, "have managed over the years." He looks to his sister and murmurs, "Are you not happy you married for love? And that your son has, now? Would you not want your grandchildren to have the same opportunity?"

Rey's eyes widen at that. What Luke suggests would be a change on a scale Alderaan's not seen since…

That's when she realizes tonight was likely a historic moment, and it gives her pause as she catches her breath. When her mind clears, she speaks up, talking to Luke. "Now's the time, isn't it? Would you pass a law, or royal decree?"

The room goes silent as the Queen considers it. "Our two options are simple," she starts. "We can calm those who have been upset by tonight and leave it at that, or we can risk more upset and take this marriage as precedent… and _change."_ Her familiar brown eyes rise to Rey's, and the corner of her mouth turns up. "But as my brother said, this is a suggestion for another day. Perhaps this could be a project we take on together, Rey."

It strikes her then, that she won't simply be Ben's wife. It's a silly thing to not have realized—no successful Queen of Alderaan has merely sat at the side of a King. They are rulers, often in their own right, and her heart stutters at the thought. She, a girl who once stole food to survive in the Jakku markets, will have the ability to help create a better kingdom for those in it.

There's no hesitation when she gives Leia a firm, "Yes, I'll help you."

Leia nods. "Tomorrow, then." With a sigh, she says, "Most of us have a ball to get back to. Let's all hope Lord Snoke's left and not made a scene in our absence."

The phrase _most of us_ fails to register in Rey's mind until they leave Leia's office, headed toward the ballroom, and Ben wordlessly tugs her in a different direction. The halls are empty now that the event is in full-swing—she can hear the music from where they are—and Ben doesn't bother to find an alcove when they turn a corner. He simply presses her to a wall, and kisses her.

It's far from the sort of obligatory kiss they shared in his mother's office—it's burning and urgent, and Ben's mouth is firm, sliding over hers harder than she would expect for a kiss shared in an empty hallway. When his hands wander down her front, Rey laughs against his mouth and pushes at his chest.

"Not _here,"_ she laughs again. It's all she can do not to roll her eyes at him, but it seems they're both so filled with relief at how the evening's gone, all either of them can do is grin. Desperately trying not to blush, she asks, "I suppose we're not going back to the ball, then?"

Ben's eyebrows raise. "I'd rather not."

"Good," she sighs. "It's been _quite_ an evening."

He leans in to kiss her forehead. "There's a bath waiting in my rooms, if you would like one."

"That would be lovely." With a blush she's unable to prevent, she asks, "Is the tub large enough for two? I may prefer some of my baths with company, moving forward."

Ben's throat bobs. "I'm happy to test it."

Rey hums.

* * *

His rooms—_theirs_, she corrects, still surprised by the truth of it—are enough to stop her short the moment she steps through the door Ben holds for her. His voice is quiet. "I've turned the sitting room into a small library. I thought you might prefer a more private escape than the tower room. Not to say we need to hide now."

Rey can see the sitting room he speaks of through a doorway to her right. There's a small part of her that wants to run to it and see which books fill it, and begin their nightly ritual of her reading to him, but then her eyes flit further along the wall. Another doorway is open—one to a washroom, if the tub she spots is any indication. Even from where she stands, Rey thinks she can see the steam rising off the water in it.

She steps further into the main room, flushing at the sight of the bed Ben sleeps in—the one _she_ will sleep in. From behind her, a tentative hand finds her hip. A mouth finds her neck, and Rey relaxes back against him. This is something with which she's familiar. The anticipation in the air, though, is something else entirely.

Biting at her lip, she whispers. "I could use help with this dress."

His mouth stills. Ben presses one more hesitant kiss to the spot behind her ear, and he starts to unlace the back of her gown. It's slow, like each inch unlaced is a step closer to… _something_. Fingertips ghost down her spine, and when they reach the dress' skirt, his hands rise, and land at her shoulders. Full palms press against her skin, moving down her arms, sliding her sleeves down with them.

Rey can't help the way her breath hitches when her clothes pool on the floor—when she's left with only his ribbon in her hair. There's no urge to cross her arms over her chest, or any of the shyness she expected. Instead, the tension between them snaps like a string drawn taut, and she turns, catching him with an arm around his neck so she can pull him down for a bruising kiss.

Any semblance of careful clothing removal is forgotten, as is the bath, when their fingers work at the buttons and clasps of what he wears. Rey tugs at the fabric in frustration, though she refuses to stop kissing him for long enough to get it over his head. Ben grins against her mouth. He pulls back, eyes smoldering when they sweep down her body.

It takes him mere seconds to strip and wrap his arms around her, backing her toward the bed. Rey doubts they'll even have the willpower to make it there. She can't speak for Ben, but this has been on her mind for _ages._ With the way his tongue traces her lips, she thinks they share a mutual desperation.

Tripping on a rug should perhaps be the least arousing thing that could happen, but it does.

Rey stumbles back, pulling Ben down with her with a yelp. They're still too far from the bed to land on it, but Ben catches an arm around her waist and manages to grip at a velvet settee bench at the foot of the bed, just in time to soften their fall. She still lands on her back, on a plush carpet, and lets out an _oof_ when she does.

He catches himself on his palms, one hand on either side of her, and for a moment, they blink in surprise, and then burst out into laughter. Her head tips back, and her eyes close as she relaxes under him, her shoulders shaking with amusement.

It turns serious again when his mouth lands at the column of her throat. Ben's weight settles over her, and when her eyes flutter open, he's closer, perched on his elbows as he smiles down at her. His chest presses to hers. It takes no thought at all to part her legs and let him rest between them, though doing so sends shivers over her body.

The room's temperature changes dramatically, heat flicking up her spine while Ben kisses across her chest and nuzzles into her there. His breath on her skin makes her dizzy, hazy, intoxicated with him. She's so impatient for more that it takes no time at all before she tightens her legs around him, silently urging him on.

Dark eyes flick up to hers, and there's a fond, awestruck expression on his face that makes everything they've managed—all the tears, all the heartache, all the worry—melt away.

Rey inhales sharply, more from surprise than any discomfort, when his hand slides between them so his fingers can work into her. He explores her, massages, and traces paths over her. When he finds her ready, he kisses her mouth, long and slow, and replaces his fingers; he pushes into her gently.

She's heard plenty of talk of this. More than enough to understand the mechanics and anatomy, of course, but she's also heard women in the kitchens talking with newly betrothed girls, speaking of it as a painful thing, or as fumbling and awkward.

It's none of that, though it's true this is happening on the _floor_ as opposed to a bed due to fumbling, but the rest is nothing but sweet and slow. Ben licks at her lips and only stops to take in a shuddering breath when he pulls away and slides back into her more deeply.

Rey's sure she'll be sore, even with how carefully he enters her, working in a little at a time until she's full of him. That's when he stills, his forehead pressing to hers. Their lips barely touch, only brushing against each other with the faintest pressure.

They breathe each other's air.

She tangles her fingers in his hair, pulling him to her for a proper kiss. His heart races against her chest, and it's as though something between them snaps—Ben groans into her mouth, his kiss turning searing as he rocks his hips against her. His hands are everywhere, stroking down her body, finding the spots that spark with every touch. The generous mouth she's spent nights dreaming about trails a path along her jaw, and over her lips, nipping at her.

Her hips roll to meet his, and she whimpers at the feeling of it. When his fingers work between them faster and swirl around her, she bites back a moan, curling up off the carpet to bury her face in his shoulder. Fingers grip and press into the skin of his back, encouraging him on until the room is filled with the sounds of heavy breathing and flesh working against flesh.

Ben makes another soft noise, and when she shudders and splinters, Rey muffles her cry with his mouth. She’s floating, and quivers when he pulses inside her. His hips still after a moment, and they stay there, catching their breath, wrapped around each other, and it's like the world stops spinning just for them.

It's the most overwhelming thing, realizing this is far from the only time they'll be able to do this. Had she been forced into a different marriage, Rey knows they would have had this night regardless—she would have felt him, felt the impossibly familiar way he grips her hip now, felt the way his breath comes out in pants against her shoulder.

But what they have now is far from just one night. Her breath hitches at the thought, or maybe it's the overwhelming relief of it all—of everything that's finally come to a head—and tears come to her eyes. Ben must notice her trembling and he seems to understand, because he only nods, leaning close to kiss the trails her tears make across her cheeks.

When he meets her eyes, her unspoken words are so much like the ones he voiced, so many years before.

_Tell me I'm not alone in this._

"I know," he whispers, his words feather-light against her jaw. "I know."

Ben's mouth presses to hers, and she lets herself sink into it—into the kiss, into the moment, into the reality where _this_ is her life now.

* * *

The bathwater is, much to Rey's surprise, still warm. The tub is large enough for the two of them, though to fit properly, she's on Ben's lap with his arms pulled tight around her. She finds the position far from disappointing.

He nuzzles into the side of her neck, kissing the back of her shoulder. Hands wander over the parts of her he hasn't gotten his fill of touching. When he reaches for a washcloth, she turns in his lap enough to admire the hard muscles of his chest and arms. Water beads on his skin—the urge to lick it off is overpowering.

Before she can, a thought comes to her, and she huffs. "Earlier, when you made mention of _taking me_ after the ball, you never intended it to happen before our wedding, did you?"

There's something she's noticed about him—something endearing. The tips of his ears go pink with his blush. It's not something she's seen before as he's always kept his hair long enough to hide, but now his hair is tucked back, and his blush has found them.

"Do you plan to scold me?" he asks lowly, pulling her closer. She can feel the grin that presses into the side of her upper arm.

Rey laughs, shaking her head, and leans against him. More warmth comes from his body than from the water. "Your plan was foolish, but how can I admonish you for it when it resulted in this?"

"I would prefer you didn't admonish me at all," he mumbles, kissing up her neck. His eyes flick to hers, and he hums. "Your lips are as red as your ribbon."

"That's your fault."

"I would be honored to take the credit for it."

She laughs again, sliding down further into the water so she can rest her head on his chest. With a snort, she says, "Next time perhaps we'll try your bed."

"_Our_ bed," he corrects.

"Ours," she whispers, testing the word out. "It will take me time to think of it that way."

Softly, his lips press to the top of her head. "I've thought of it that way for years. Since that day in the garden, when we promised to find a way to be married. Each night since, I've felt as though I'm keeping it warm for you."

Rey sighs, filling with a level of contentedness she once thought impossible. A comfortable silence falls between them until she asks, "Will you unbraid my hair before we sleep?"

"Of course," he murmurs, gesturing for her to turn. "I'd like to unbraid your hair every night, unless you prefer to do it yourself."

Her answer is a smile, and she readjusts so she's sitting in front of him. The picture in the mirror in front of her is stunning—her skin flushed, her lips reddened, the ribbon in her hair scarlet, the braid a beautiful, complicated weave.

The man behind her, with damp curling hair, meets her eyes through the mirror. His lips quirk up, then press to her shoulder.

He unbraids her hair slowly, catching the red ribbon as it spills so it won't dampen in the water. It takes minutes longer than it should—he stops often to kiss her neck and pull her closer. She relaxes, closing her eyes, and lets him tenderly brush out her hair with his fingers.

"Do you know why we use a red ribbon?"

Her eyes flutter open, and her gaze goes to his in the mirror. She shakes her head.

Ben's words are whisper soft, spoken into her ear while he watches her. "It's said that there's an invisible red strand that connects those who are destined to meet, no matter their time or place… or circumstance." His nose slides along her neck. "It's said that the strand may stretch or tangle, but that it will remain unbroken."

She swallows as he holds her gaze.

"At times our love has tangled, and stretched," he breathes. "But like the ribbon, those things will not cause it to break."

Rey thinks she might cry again, and she finally does when he adds, with so much sincerity it makes her heart ache with love, "I've known… I've known for so long that I'd braid it in your hair. I've known we would find a way. And now there's nothing anyone can do about it."

"There was never anything they could do. My love has always been yours." She turns on his lap, making water lap up the sides of the tub, and she sits astride him, leaning her forehead to meet his. "As you said, it may tangle, and it may stretch, but our love—it—"

Her voice cracks with emotion, and she sniffs, wrapping her arms around his neck. He finishes the sentence for her, murmuring the words against her mouth.

"It will never break."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on twitter!  
[ Attack's Twitter](https://twitter.com/AttackotDC)  



End file.
